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Idyls of Battle 



AND 



POEMS OF THE REBELLION. 



By HOWAED GLYNDON. ^ 

/7>'.yV" (lauka c. reddeis.) 



^%OJuA' 



God ! how this land grows rich in loyal blood 
Poured out upon it to its utmost length ; 

The incense of a nation's sacrifice — 
The wrested offering of a nation's strength ! 

It is the costliest land beneath the sun ! 

'T is priceless, purchaseless I And not a rood 
Bvit hath its title written clear, and signed 

In some slain hero's consecrated blood ! 




NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 

4C1 BROADWAY, COR. WALKER ST. 
^1865. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 

HuRD AND Houghton, 

in the Clerk's Office of the, District Court of the Southern District 

of New York. 



RIVEESIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

BTEREOTTPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



To One 

WHOSE QUIET WORDS OF PEAISE WOULD MAKE ME PROUD- 
EST OF all; BUT WHOSE NAME IS TOO SACKED TO 
BE WRITTEN UPON THIS PAGE: 

WHO WAS TO MY PAST, IN THE HIGHEST SENSE 
OF THE WORDS, 

FRIEND AND COUNSELLOR, 

AND WHOSE PRESENCE IN THE HEREAFTER WT:LL BE 
DEAREST TO ME, AFTER GOD'S, 

K consecrate t!)is, 

MY FIRST ENDEAVOR. 



Shall not the earnest spirit plead for the untried hand? 



CONTENTS. 

— « — 

PAGB 

Preface to Subscribers' Edition • 1 

In Time of War 5 

Left on the Battle-Fif.ld 8 

To THE Earnest Thinkers 10 

After the Victories 12 

De Profundis 15 

For the Stricken • 17 

The Story of Sumter 19 

Watch-Night ■ 24 

The Legend of our Victories 27 

The Latest War News 33 

Mitchell 36 

The Fall of Lexington, Missouri 38 

Come we to This ? 41 

Baker 43 

Our Sacrifice • — 45 

Union forever 48 

Resurgam 52 

On the Dead List 54 

Belle Missouri 57 

Douglas 60 

The Snow in October • • 63 

To a Hero, with a Sword 67 

To a Patriot 69 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
YlCKSBURG 71 

Loyalty's Last Effort 73 

An Appeal 76 

Truth is Invincible • 81 

Ranked higher • • • 83 

The Snow at Fredericksburg 85 

The Battle of Gettysburg 88 

The Graves OF Gettysburg-- 92 

The Ransomed Banner • • 95 

Bringing him Home 98 

Preaching in Camp 103 

Jefferson Davis 106 

The President's Proclamation • 109 

A Greeting for a New Year--- Ill 

A Supplication- 114 

The Volunteer's Return •• 116 

Our Cause 120 

My Absent Soldier • • • . • 126 

L. H. R. ••••• 129 

Mt Story • • • • • 130 

Waiting for Yictory 134 

Charge of Blair's Brigade at Yicksburg 137 

Lost in the Wilderness 139 

Butler's Black Brigade 142 

To A. E. .-•- 145 

Kentucky's Crittenden 146 

The Quiet Man • • 148 

H. T. B. 150 

The Last Poem • • - • • • • ' • 151 



PKEFACE TO SUBSCRIBERS' EDITION. 



TO the gentlemen whose names follow 
these lines I owe most cordial and 
grateful acknowledgments for friendly en- 
couragement and active cooperation with 
me in the work of getting out this volume. 
One and all, they have my most fervent 
thanks. 

Hon. A. LiKCOLN, President U. S. 

U. S- Grant, Lieut.- General U. S. 

Hon. J. A. Griswold, M. C, Troy, New York. 

H. D. Bacon, Esq., St. Louis, Missouri. 

Hon. H. T. Blow, M. C, St. Louis, Missouri. 

Hon. John P. Hale, United States Senate, New 
Hampshire. 

Hon. John Conness, U. S. S., San Francisco, 
California. 

Hon. TiMON O. Howe, U. S. S., Wisconsin. 

Maj.-Gen. L. H. Rousseau, Army of the Ohio. 

Hon. Robert C. Schenck, M. C, Ohio. 

Hon. Henry Wilson, U. S. S., Massachusetts. 

Col. H. S. McCoMB, Wilmington, Delaware. 

Ex-Gov. E. D. Morgan, U. S. S., New York. 

Hon. E. Delafield Smith, U. S. District Attor- 
ney, New York. 



2 PREFACE 

J. W. Parrish, Esq., St. Louis, Missouri. 

Samuel Hallett, Esq., New York.* 

Hon. Schuyler Colfax, M. C, Indiana. 

Hon. John B. Steele, M. C, Kingston, New 
York. 

John D. Perry, Esq., St. Louis, Missouri. 

Hon. J. A. Garfield, M. C, Ohio. 

Dr. W. K. Mehaffey, Washington, D. C. 

Hon. J. A. Cravens, M. C, Hardensburgh, Indiana. 

Hon. B. F. Loan, M. C, St. Joseph, Missouri. 

Hon. J. W. McClurg, M. C, Linn Creek, Missouri. 

Hon. B. Van Valkenburg, M. C, Bath, New 
York. 

Hon. E. C. Ingersoll, M. C, Peoria, Illinois. 

Hon. John G. Scott, M. C, Irondale, Missouri. 

Hon, Wm. D. Kelley, M. C, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Hon. J. A. J. Creswell, M. C, Elkton, Md. 

Hon. Francisco Perea, Delegate from New 
Mexico. 

Hon. Augustus Frank, M. C, New York. 

Hon. LuciAN Anderson, M. C, Mayfield, Ky. 

Hon. E. H. Webster, M. C, Belair, Md. 

Hon. Ben. Wood, M. C, New York City. 

Hon. Thos. T. Davis, M. C, Syracuse, New York. 

Ex-Gov. Wm. Sprague, U. S. S., Rhode Island. 

Hon. Samuel Hooper, M. C, Boston, Mass. 

Hon. Lewis W. Ross, M. C, Lewistown, 111. 

Hon. T. W. Kellogg, M. C, Grand Rapids, Mich- 
igan. ' 

Hon. Green Clay Smith, M. C, Covington, Ky. 

J. B. Stewart, Esq., Washington, D. C. 

* Deceased. 



TO SUBSCRIBERS' EDITION. 3 

Hon. Nehemiah Perry, M. C, Newark, New 
Jersey. 

Hon. C. H. Winfield, M. C, Goshen, New York. 

Hon. H. P. Bennett, Delegate from Colorado Ter- 
ritory. 

Hon. J. F. Farns WORTH, M. C, St. Charles, 111. 

Hon. J. A. Jenkes, M. C, Providence, E,. I. 

Hon. N. B. Smithers, M. C, Dover, Delaware. 

Hon. Thos. D Eliot, M. C, New Bedford, Mass. 

Hon. H. C. Deming, M. C, Hartford, Connecticut. 

Hon. Leonard Myers, M. C, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Hon. J. O'Neil, M. C, Zanesville, Ohio. 

Hon. W. B. Allison, M. C, Dubuque, Iowa. 

Hon. Wm. Higby, M. C, California. 

Hon. Cornelius Cole, M. C, California. 

Hon. M. F. Odell, M. C, New York. 



IN TIME OF WAR. 

rtlHERE are white faces in each sunny 

street, 
- And signs of trouble meet us everywhere ; 
The nation's pulse hath an unsteady beat, 
For scents of battle foul the summer air. 

A thrill goes through the city's busy life, 
And then — as when a strong man stints 
his breath — 
A stillness comes ; and each one in his place 
Waits for the news of triumph, loss, and 
death. 

The " Extras " fall like rain upon a drought, 
And startled people crowd around the 
board 



6 IN TIME OF WAR. 

Whereon the nation's sum of loss or gain 
In rude and hurried characters is scored. 

Perhaps it is a glorious triumph-gleam — 
An earnest of our Future's recompense ; 

Perhaps it is a storj of defeat, 

Which smiteth like a fatal pestilence. 

* 
But whether Failure darkens all the land, 

Or whether Victory sets its blood ablaze, 
An awfiil cry, a mighty throb of pain, 

Shall scare the sweetness from these sum- 
mer days. 

Young hearts shall bleed, and older hearts 
shall break, 

A sense of loss shall be in many a place ; 
And oh, the bitter nights ! the weary days ! 

The sharp desire for many a buried face ! 

God ! how this land grows rich in Iryal 
blood, 
Poured out upon it to its utmost length I 



IN TIME OF WAR. 7 

The incense of a people's sacrifice, — 
The wrested offering of a people's strength ! 

It is the costliest land beneath the sun ! 

'T is priceless, purchaseless ! And not a 
rood 
But hath its title written clear and signed 

In some slain hero's consecrated blood. 

And not a flower that gems its mellowing 
soil 
But thriveth well beneath the holy dew 
Of tears, that ease a nation's straining heart, 
When the Lord of battles smites it through 
and through. 




LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD, 

|H, my darling ! my darling ! never to 
feel 

Your liand going over my liair ! 
Never to lie in your arms again, — - 

Never to know where you are ! 
Oh, the weary miles that stretch between 

My feet and the battle-ground, 
Where all that is left of my dearest hope 
Lies under some yellow mound ! 

It is but little I might have done 

To lighten your parting pain ; 
But 'tis bitter to think that you died alone 

Out in the dark and the rain ! 
Oh, my hero love ! — to have kissed the pam 

And the mist from your fading eyes ! 



LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 9 

To have saved one only passionate look 
To sweeten these memories ! 



And tliinking of all, I am strangely stunned, 

And cannot believe you dead. 
You loved me, dear ! And I loved you, 
dear ! 

And your letter lies there, unread ! 
You are not dead ! You are not dead ! 

God never could will it so — 
To craze my brain and break my heart 

And shatter my life — I know ! 

Dead ! dead ! and never a word, 

Never a look for me ! 
Dead ! dead ! and our marriage-day 

Never on earth to be ! 
I am left alone, and the world is changed, 

So dress me in bridal white. 
And lay me away in some quiet place 

Out of the hateftd light. 



TO THE EARNEST THINKERS. 



r 



F tlie mist of failure, gray, 
Cloud tlie breaking of the day. 
For whose coming all the waiting millions 
pray, — 
If misgivings dull and rust 
The first brightness of their trust, — 
Let the earnest thinkers open up the way. 

Show each brave, impatient soul 
How the waves of failure roll 
Back from brows that sternly front the wait- 
ing goal ; 
How the single-handed right, 
In its God-anointed might. 
Dares to meet and conquer evil's legioned 
whole. 



TO THE EARNEST THINKERS. 11 

Show them how a brief defeat 
Hath its uses pure and sweet, — 
How it fires the brain, the soul, with newer 
heat ; 
Failure's lowest dej^ths we sound, 
Then, with terrible rebound, 
Up the heights of triumph go our conquering 
feet ! 

Show them how the Truth is strong 
When it battles with the Wrong, 

Though the coward quail before the struggle 
long ; 
How the soldier of the Ridit 
Dares the fierce, unequal fight. 

Leaping fearless into Treason's armed throng I 

Earnest thinkers of the day ! 

It is yours to clear the way. 
While our soldiers fight, our women work 
and pray ; 

Send your stirring words abroad 

For the Right — for Truth — for God ! 
With the prophet's fiery spu:it seal your say ! 



AFTER THE VICTORIES. 

T"T"A ! the wine-press of pain hath been 
trodden ! 

And suffering's meed mantles high, — 
The perfect, rare wine, wrought of patience, 

It moveth aright to the eye ! 
Oh ! dark was the night while we trampled 

Its death-purple grapes under foot ; 
And no song parted silence from darkness, 

For Liberty's Sibyl was mute ! 

And the fiends of the lowest were loosened, 

To persecute Truth at their will ! 
They spat on her white shining forehead, 

She standing unmoved and still ! 
The hiss of the white-blooded coward, 

The vile breath of calumny's brood, 
Befouled and bedarkened the kingdom. 

And poisoned the place where we stood ! 



AFTER THE VICTORIES. 13 

We, — treading the ripe grapes asunder, 

With faihng and overworked feet ; 
Alone in the terrible darkness, 

Alone in the stifling heat ; 
With agonj-drops raining over 

Our weak hands from desolate brows ; 
With a deadlier pain in our spirits. 

O'er whose failure no promise arose. 

Shook the innermost being of justice. 

Stirred the innermost pulse of our God, 
With a cry of remonstrance whose anguish 

Fri2:hted devils and saints from its road ! 
All the pain of a long-martyred nation, 

All its giant heart's overtasked strength, 
In one Samson-hke throe were unfettered, 

Standing up for a hearing at length ! 

And, even as we fell in the darkness — 
Falling down, with our mouths in the dust. 

With toil-stained and blood-dyed garments 
That betokened us true to our trust. 

When the laugh of the scoffer was loudest, 



14 AFTER THE VICTORIES. 

And the clapping of cowardly hands, 
A glory blazed out from the Westward, 
That startled the far-distant lands ! 
****** 

Ha ! the wine-press of pain hath been trodden! 

Now summon the laborers forth ! 
Let them come in their red-dyed garments. 

The lion-browed sons of the North ! 
Not for failure their veins have been leavened 

With the vintage of Seventy-six ! 
Nor unworthy the blood of our heroes 

With its rare olden currents to mix ! 

Ha ! Conquerors ! Come ye out boldly, 

Full fronting our reverent eyes ! 
In the might of your glorious manhood, 

Ye Saviours of Freedom, arise ! 
Come out in your sun-ripened grandeur, 

Ye victors, who wrestled with Wrong ! 
Come ! toil-worn and weary with battle, — 

We greet you with shout and with song ! 



DE PROFUNDIS. 



AFTER A DEFEAT. 



A H, God! shall tears poured out like 

rain, 
And deathly pangs, and praying breath, 
And faith as deep and strong as death, 
Be given — and all in vain ? 

Thou claimest martyrs, — they are given, - 
What shall the stern demand suffice ? 
From out our darkened homes arise 

Strong cries that startle Heaven. 

We murmur not, enduring all 

With broken hearts but silent lips ; 
With all our glories in eclipse, 

And some beyond recall. 



16 DE PROFUNDIS. 

We stand beside our dead, our eyes 
In patient sufferance raised to Tliee, 
And kiss the still brows reverently, — 

Behold our sacrifice ! 

Behold our sacrifice ! We give 
The best blood of a suffering land ! 
A nation's heart by its own hand 

Is stricken — that Right may live ! 

No failure this ! God's own right hand 
A victory shall write it down I 
The years shall strengthen its renown ; 

Be proud of it, Land ! 

Thou Christ ! The Godhood of thy brow 
Paled 'neath the throes of mortal pain ; 
But all thy glory glows again, 

Thrice-haloed, round thee now ! 

Give us the martyr's steadfast power. 
So, passing our Gethsemane, 
Our glory shall but brighter be 

For this, our trial hour ! 



FOR THE STRICKEN. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

WISTFUL eyes I tliat will not cease 
From gazing sadly after one 
Who went out in tlie dark alone, 
Althougli ye say, " He is at peace ! " 

O hearts ! that will not turn away, 

But questioning stand without the door ; 
He passeth through it never more, 

For he hath reached the perfect day ! 

Even when we thought him most our own, 
His crown was nearest to his brow ; 
And he redeemed his early vow, 

And passed, with all his armor on. 



18 FOR THE STRICKEN. 

He turned to clasp a shadowy hand, 

Unreal to our duller eyes ; 

He saw the gleams of Paradise 
Break through the darkness of the land. 

His gain exceedeth all our loss ; 

We linger on these barren sands, — 
He is a dweller in the lands 

Bequeathed the soldiers of the cross ! 



lam. i£ 



THE STORY OF SUMTER. 

THEN. 

|VER sea and over city slowlj crept the 
sullen morn, 
All the splendor of its dawning by a grow- 
ing shadow curst ; 
And the sunless sky that sphered us nursed 
a tempest yet unborn, 
But we waited on the Battery * for another 
storm to burst. 
Grim, defiant, as some olden warrior clad in 
chilly mail, 
Sullen, signless silence brooding o'er its 
weather-beaten face. 
From its brow the vapor rifted by the fresh- 
ening eastern gale, 

* The battery of Charleston harbor. 



20 THE STORY OF SUMTER. 

Saw we Sumter, as tlie grayiiess of tlie 
morning waned apace. 
Ha ! the sluggish day is shaken from its still- 
ness by a growl, 
The defiance of the Southron — spoken 
from the cannon's mouth — 
Blazes out the fiery ruin from beneath its 
smoky cowl. 
And within the walls of Sumter falls the 
gauntlet of the South ! 
No response unto the challenge ! Are they 
powerless to defy ? 
But what flutters from the ramparts as the 
vapor parts away ? 
Still their own insulted colors o'er the daunt- 
less heroes fly, 
Flaunting all their braided«splendors in the 
sullen face of day ! 
t^h ! behind those silent bulwarks, rising 
grimly from the sea. 
Waiting for the stealthy coming of the 
death-dispensing shell. 



THE STORY OF SUMTER. 21 

There's a band of fearless spirits; guess 
how many strong tliey be, — 
They who stood so long and bravely, ere 
their glorious banner fell ! 
Seventy men to man the ramparts and to 
work each giant gun ! 
Only these to face the Southrons, who are 
seven thousand strong ! 
Bravely toiled they from the dawnmg to the 
setting of the sun, — 
Bursting shell and shot around them in a 
ceaseless fiery throng ! 
Fast and faster belched the ruin from the 
sulphurous, yawning jaws 
Of the seven Southern batteries, armed 
and ready for the work ; 
All the day and all the night long well were 
plied their greedy maws. 
And until the second morning broke dis- 
consolate and murk. 
Fire withm and foes without them! Yet 
they struggled long and well, 



22 THE STORY OF SUMTER. 

From beneath their blazing shelter holding 
out against a host, / 

Ere the colors of the loyal from the crest of 
Sumter fell, 

And the gallant Seventy slowly left their 
well-defended post ! 

Apkil, 1861. 

NOW. 

Now the tender budding greenery brightens 
all the earth again, 
But the sprouting grass is reddened with 
the angry bloom of war ! 
By the hearthstones of the nation only sounds 
the wail of pain, 
While our hero soldiers struggle in the glo- 
rious fight afar. 
Thy Nemesis, O Sumter ! was the tlirill that 
shook the land ; 
When the tidings of thy spoihng brought 
the nation to its feet. 
Then was clenched, with stern intention, in- 
jured Loyalty's right hand ; 



THE STORY OF SUMTER. 23 

Its insulted front was lifted proudly up the 
taunt to meet ! 
Murmur not in doubt, my brothers, at this 
trial rite of blood, — , 

At this purging out of error from the arte- 
ries of the land ! 
Never yet the walls of Treason the assault 
of Eight withstood ; 
Ere another year hath circled ye shall 
prove it where ye stand ! 

April, 1864. 




WATCH-NIGHT. 

JD I frighten you, motlier, — so white 
and cold, 
And so silently here at your bed ? 
I could not sleep on this terrible night. 

For the battle of which we read. 
To think of the dead lying out in this rain, 

Not minding its dreary fall, — 
Of that mad, mad fight on the side of the 
hill ; 
And he — he was in it all ! 



They say he was foremost in every charge. 
Till the hardiest held their breath. 

Or paused in the struggle to raise a cheer 
For the man who was quits with death ! 

They say he was quiet and just the same, - 
No paler when acting his part ; 



WATCH-NIGHT. 25 

But I know, I know liow he went away, 
Stabbed even to the inmost heart. 

But the fiercest pain for a tender soul 

Is doubt and its jealous pride ; 
Though we do not die when we suffer so, 

Till the faithful are justified. 
I tore his ring from my worthless hand, 

Denying my name of wife ; 
But I wear him yet in my heart of hearts. 

And I love him with all my life. 

I must go to him ! I shall never rest 

Till I falter before his feet ; 
And there I shall die if he raise me not, 

And cure me with kisses sweet ! 
I shall die ! I shall die if I may not look 

Once more in my hero's eyes, 
And see the fire of the olden love 

In their passionate deeps arise ! 

I have wronged his truth, I have wronged his 
love. 
And aU for a whispered lie ! 



26 



WATCH-NIGHT. 



I have sent him to wander in search of death. 

Ah, mother, if he should die ! 
I will suffer all ; I deserve it all ! 

But, mother, I 'm mad to go, 
And beg him to take me hack again, 

For I love him — I love him so ! 




THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES 

IN '61-'62. 

TTTHAT, lio ! ye valiant wrestlers ! 

^ Ye soldiers of the Right ! 
Full armed by Truth and Justice 

To battle lawless Might. 
Ho ! I have glorious tidings ! 

Come, list the tale I tell, 
How the cause of Union triumphed, 

And the crest of Treason fell. 



Too long this fair young kingdom, 
The Empire of the West, 

Had borne a blasting stigma 
Upon her virgin breast ! 

Too long the brazen foreheads 
Of a many-headed Wrong 



28 THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES. 

Were lifted up in triumph 
Above a murmuring throng I 

And the leal heart of the patriot 

Was heavy for our^hame ; 
And we trembled for the glory 

Of our country's growing fame ; 
But a noble-hearted pity 

Held back the righteous blow, 
For, alas ! we knew a brother 

In the face of every foe. 

Our wise men, looking Southward, 

Beheld the coming storm ; 
It had gathered, it had ripened. 

While they sounded the alarm. 
The pestilence grew fouler, 

And no comfort blessed our eyes. 
For the fiend that sowed this discord 

Had flouted all disguise. 

We all remember Sumter, 

And the battle's growing hum, — 



THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES. 29 

How the noise of tinkling cymbals 
Was deadened by the drum. 

Manassas stands a warning 
To our Future from our Past ; 

And these skies that gleam so bluely 
At Ball's Bluff were overcast. 

Oh ! then went up to Heaven 

A strong and mingled sound : 
There were curses, there were pleadings, 

And tears falling to the ground. 
And twin-born Strife and Treason 

Went stalking hand in hand ; 
And ouv friends across the ocean 

Spied the bareness of the land. 

But at last we turned upon them,_ 

And stood in proud array ; 
In the West and to the Southward 

Our thunders shook the day I 
On either flank beleaguered. 

Two foes our strength divide ; 
But Disunion, Fraud, and Euin 

Fell down on either side ! 



30 THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES. 

Bravely they worked together ! 

The framers of the lie 
That teaches we have struggled, 

And succeeded — hut to die ; 
That teaches our achievements 

And our growing hopes are nought ; 
That laughs to scorn the maxims 

That our patriot fathers taught. 

We sought to save the Union ; 

They strove to blot the name 
Of Freedom's chosen country 

From the royal scroll of fame. 
We strove to save the record 

Wrought out by sacred hands ; 
But they to make their birthright 

The prey of distant lands. 

Ho ! planters of the South land ! 

Ho ! yoemen of the North ! 
Ye who love our glorious Union, 

Fling its banner proudly forth ! 
For the dastard front of Treason 

Quails beneath this sturdy blow ; 



THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES. 31 

And if we stand together, 
We shall lay the curser low ! 

We won't give up the Union ! 

Go shout it far and wide ! 
Missouri's head is lifted 

Once more in queenly pride ; 
And Tennessee, unfettered. 

At length may proudly stand I 
Out with the hand of greeting, 

All true hearts in the land ! 

And farther, farther Southward, 

From " the dark and bloody ground,' 
From the crimson fields of Arkansas, 

Our triumph-notes resound ! 
And proudly o'er the waters 

Our braided colors fly, — 
That flag whose splendors gladdened 

Full many^ dymg eye ! 



Shout for the glorious Union ! 
Shout for the triumph gained ! 



32 THE LEGEND OF OUR VICTORIES. 

In the hour that gave it to us 

The star of Treason waned ! 
Well done, stanch hearts and loyal 1 

We yet shall win the day, 
And see this fell disorder 

Pass from the land away ! 
Nerve ! nerve ! each good right arm again, 

And forward for the Right ! 
And Union's stainless banner 

Shall conquer lawless Might. 




THE LATEST WAR NEWS. 

/^ PALE, pale face ! O helpless hands ! 
^-"^ Sweet eyes by fruitless watching 

wronged ; 
Yet turning ever towards the lands 
Where War's red hosts are thronged ! 

She shudders when they tell the tale 
Of some great battle fought and won ; 

Her sweet child face grows old and pale, 
Her heart falls like a stone. 

<t 
She sees no conquering flag unfurled, 

She hears no victory's brazen roar ; 
But a dear face, which was her world. 

Perchance she '11 kiss no more ! 



34 THE LATEST WAR NEWS. 

Ever there comes between her sight 
And the glory that they rave about, 

A boyish brow and eyes whose hght 
Of splendor hath gone out. 

The midnight glory of his hair, 
Where late her fingers, like a flood 

Of moonhght, wandered, — lingering there,— 
Is stiff and dank with blood ! 

She must not shriek, she must not moan, 
She must not wring her quivering hands ; 

But sitting dumb and white, alone. 
Be bound with viewless bands. 

Because her suffering life infolds 

Another dearer, feebler life. 
In death-strong grasp her heart she holds. 

And stills its torturing strife. 



"^iD 



Yester eve, they say, a field was won. 
Her eyes ask tidings of the fight ; 



THE LATEST WAR NEWS. 35 

But tell her of the dead alone 
Who lay out in the night. 

In mercy tell her that Ms name 

Was not upon that fatal list ; 
That not among the heaps of slain 

Dumb are the lips she 's kissed ! 

O poor pale child ! O woman heart ! 

Its weakness triumphed o'er by strength ! 
Love teaching pain discipline's art, 

And conquering at length ! 




MITCHELL. 

WRITTEN AT THE TIME OF HIS VICTOKIES IN THE 
SOUTHWEST. 

^1 yriTCHELL ! strong brain, qnick eye, 
■^ and steady hand, 

Faithful in service, faultless in command ; 
Thou favorite son of science ! fit to stand 
Foremost among the Saviours of the land ; 

In that the scholar's craft, the captain's skill, 
In thee conjoined, work fitting triumphs still ; 
And nobler yet the patriotic thrill 
Which guides the master-triumphs of thy 
wiU! 

God ! with a handful of such hearted men 
To beard the wolf of Treason in his den, — 



MITCHELL. 37 

Men quick to plan and strong to act, — and 

then 
Europe shall ring our triumphs back again ! 

Onward, my hero ! Men shall catch the 
flame 

Which hghts thy soul, and glow again for 
shame. 

With thee, and such as thee, we shall re- 
claim 

The morning glory of our empire's fame ! 




THE FALL OF LEXINGTON, MISSOURL 

[On this occasion the Eebels tore down the Federal flag, and 
trampled it in the dust.] 

A ND what thongh the crest of a brazen 

revolt 
Is reared for the moment in insolent joy 
O'er the sanctified front of our glorious 
cause, 
Whose hope and existence ye hope to de- 
stroy ? 

The banner whose folds ye have trailed in 
the dust 
Is sacred in spite of your dastardly hands ; 
And the tale of your cowardly deed shall be 
told 
With hisses and sneers in the uttermost 
lands. 



THE FALL OF LEXINGTON. 39 

In sooth, 't was a valiant and soldierly act, 

Befitting the spirits that marshal your clan, 
To insult the old banner, whose folds were 
your shield. 
That looked on the hour when your glory 
began. 

That flag is the type and ally of each 
deed 
That gives you a right to be proud of the 
past; 
And with it ye lay your inheritance down, 
And barter its worth for a shame that shall 
last. 

But the scorn that ye cast on your glorious 
dead 
Shall arise fi:om the ground that is rich 
with the blood 
That poured, for your craven and cowardly 
I sakes. 

For years in a holy and martyr-like flood. 



40 THE FALL OF LEXINGTON. 

Think ye that the parricide*s labor shall 
thrive ? 
Think ye that the brow of a Cain shall be 
blessed, 
When full in the eyes of a shuddering world 
He stands with the red sign of slaughter 
confessed ? 

The nations shall rise in a verdict sublime ; 
The voice of their protest shall sever the 
skies ; 
And the pride-stiffened neck of Rebellion 
shall bow, 
And the fire of contempt blast its insolent 
eyes ! 

Then shout o'er the fall of that glorious flag, 
Exult in your shame, ere its punishment 
lowers. 
Your children shall blush when they tell of 
the day 
When you triumphed, but knew that the 
glory was ours ! 



COME WE TO THIS ? 

[The Rebels have discarded the good old National Air of 
"Yankee Doodle," adopting "Dixie" in its stead.] 

"TTTHAT matter if its martial strains 

Record tlie triumph-breatliing story 
Of early Freedom's well-fought plains, 

And valor crowned with bays of glory ? 
What matter if its sound alone 

Sufficed to fire the patriot's bosom, 
And with each spirit-stirring tone 

Exultant hopes sprang into blossom ? 

What matter if its memory 's twined 

About our costliest heritages. 
And if in casting it behind 

We blur our country's proudest pages ? 
What matter if its tones were dear 

Unto the Hon heart, undaunted. 



42 COME WE TO THIS? 

Of him whose fame is far and near, 
Where'er our country's name is vaunted? 

What matter ? Has each freeborn soul 

Become so strangely tame and craven, 
Despite the floods of noble blood 

In which its native seed was laven. 
That we can brook the dastard heel 

Of Treason on our crest of glory ? 
The despot's sneer, the traitor's steel, — 

Is this the ending of our story ? 




BAKER. 

rilHOU lion-fronted, rojal man ! 

Thou of tlie swerveless lightning glance, 
Whose thunderous eloquence outran, 

O'ertopped, the minds it did entrance ; — 
O man, made regal by thy might. 
The many-chorded soul to smite ! 

The lowly path was not for thee. 

Thy mental stature towered above 
The wondering eyes, upraised to see 

The man whose tone and glance could 
move 
A people's heart to love or hate ; 
Whose touch could guide it like a fate. 



The glory of his life was set 

Unto a measure high and grand ; 
4 



44 BAKER. 

The lofty anthem lingers yet 

In haunting echoes through the land ; 
And, greeted with a triumph-tone, 
He stood, a conqueror — alone ! 

He fell ; — and, lo ! a mighty wail, 
A cry, subhme in grief and strength. 

Proclaimed the giant lying pale. 

His mighty power undone at length ; 

And for that wondrous man and strong 

Went up a nation's funeral song. 

For him a high applauding tone 
Shall linger in the halls of Time. 

Even as he stood, he fell — alone, 
A warrior in a strife sublime. 

A nation raised his burial-stone, — 

He will not sleep unsung, unknown. 



OUR SACRIFICE. 

[To those brave men of the Fifteenth and Twentieth Massa- 
chusetts Regiments and the California Battalion, living or 
dead, who took part in the battle of Ball's Bluff, this heart- 
cry is dedicatedj] 

"TXT ELL, the hapless day is done ! 

' Well, its bloody course is run ! 
Let a paU of blackness hide it 
From the glances of the sun. 

Oh ! the cruel, cruel fate ! 
Oh ! the help that came too late ! 
Here our first and great disaster * 
Surely found its fitting mate ! 

Ah, the hearts that bled in vain ! 
Ah, the heaps of loyal slauj I 
* Bull Run. 



46 OUR SACRIFICE. 

Soft, my soul ; be silent ; add not 
Curses to this bitter pain. 

j5e,* the Hon-heart of all, 
Holding life and safety small, 
If his country's clouded honor 
Might be brightened by his fall. 

Oh, ye steadfast ! oh, ye brave ! 
Filling now one common gr^e ; 
Lo ! the nation's bosom shrines ye 
With the cause ye died to save ! 

Shall it, shall it be for nought 
That this sacrifice was wrought ? 
Ha ! the nation startles fiercely. 
Burning at the craven thought ! 

Not until the hoary flood 
That is purple with your blood, 
On whose banks your scanty legions 
Facing brutal slaughter stood, 

* Baker. 



OUR SACRIFICE. 47 

From its ending to its source 
Floweth free from Eebel force, — 
Not until yon far blue mountains 
Have been purged of Treason's curse, — 

Will we stay the costly tide 
From a bleeding nation's side ; 
Blood and treasure flowing freely 
In an ocean deep and wide. 

For a spirit is abroad 
Bright and terrible with God ; 
And we mark the troubled waters 
Where His burning feet have trod ! 




UNION FOREVER. 

EN of America, press to your standard ! 
Foemen are gathering anear and afar ; 
Swear that your Hfe-blood shall redden 
around it, 
Ere from its azure there vanish a star. 



Look where the demon of inward dissension 
Is sowing the seeds of a terrible strife ; 

We who stood firm against foreign encroach- 
ment. 
Are turning our hands against Unity's life. 

Shall our blood-purchased glory vanish for- 
ever ? 
Oh ! shall we shame the pure eye of the 
day, 



UNION FOREVER. 49 

With a sight of the ranks of our brotherhood 
broken 
Forever, and siding in hostile array ? 

Oh! shall the wail of the trampled and 
fettered 
Go up from the uttermost ends of the 
earth, 
And the down-trodden heads of the milhons 
uphfted 
At the news of our destiny's glorious birth 

Droop as the star of our Unity fadeth, 

And the shreds of our banner are flung on 
the gale ; 
While the eye of the despot shall gloat o'er 
the record 
That tells of our shame and our failure the 
tale ? 

How art thou fallen, O Daughter of Promise ! 
From the throne of thy lofty and virgin 
estate, 



50 UNION FOREVER. 

Wlien thj children are drunk with the blood 
of thy suffering, 
And traitors are ringing the knell of thy 
fate ! 

Yet, there 's a band of the stanch and de- 
voted, — 
Men whose integrity never was bought ; 
Deep in their leal hearts are graven the les- 
sons 
God and the deeds of their fathers have 
taught. 

Strong in the might of an inborn convic- 
tion, 

Only for God and the Uniojt we fight, 
Only to foil the designs of the traitor, 

Only to vindicate God and the Right ! 

Union forever ! our God-given motto ; 

Union forever ! our voices proclaim ; 
Union forever ! our women and children 

Rise and unite in defence of its fame ! 



UNION FOREVER. 51 

Union forever ! and death to the traitor ! 

Be the bright folds of our banner unrolled. 
Show to the world that its stripes are eternal, 

And its stars hke the stars that the heav- 
ens enfold. 

Union forever ! Oh, sons of your country, 
Swell the proud anthem that rolls from the 
heart 
Of our forests of pine to the sweeping prai- 
ries; 
Union forever ! we die ere we part ! 




EESURGAM. 



T ET tlie nations talk ! 
"^ While Freedom droops, with all her 
colors down, 
With a great cloud upon her old renown ; 
While in the sunhght traitors dare to walk I 



It is the boaster's hour ! 
It is the time that separates from the true 
Those paltering fools who have not strength 
to do 
One honest deed against an evil power. 

For single-hearted men. 
Who know no creed but Crusade for the 
Right, 



RESURGAM. 63 

Whom smaller interests sway not in tliis 
fight, 
The Cross and Thorns of Christdom come 
again. 

What time they stand 
In pillory, while Ignorance may revile, 
And Prejudice may sneer with bigot smile. 
And Wrong be free to strike with dastard 
hand. 

But not for long ! 
Is any night that waits not for its dawn ? 
From any work is God's good hand with- 
drawn ? 
Is any right o'ermastered by the wrong ? 

As the Lord hveth — No ! 
Above the night of this most sore distress 
Shall rise the healing sun of righteousness ! 
The harvest is the surer, being slow ! 



ON THE DEAD LIST. 

TITILLIS CLARE is dead, they say ! 

Mother read it out to-day, 
But I met the words half-way. 



Did I tremble ? Did I faint ? 
Did I utter any plaint ? 
I was patient as a saint. 

So I grappled without sign 
With this master woe of mine ; 
Pride can brace us more than wine. 

Prudent, was I ? Let me die ! 

Ah ! I cannot act a he, 

'Neath the pure night's starry eye ! 



ON THE DEAD LIST. &6 

Oh, to think, this summer night, 
That he hes so cold and white ! 
He — the bravest in the fight ! 

And my name was on his Kps 
When his blue eyes met ecHpse 
'Neath death's icy finger-tips. 

Christ in heaven ! I would have died 
Glad, and proud, and satisfied 
For that last hour at his side ! 

Oh, this bitter, bitter woe ! 
WiU the darkness never go. 
And the pain that stabs me so ? 

I remember summer nights 

On the Hudson's breezy heights. 

Full of wonderful delights. 

Now I watch not for his tread. 
Though the stars shine overhead ; 
And they tell me he is dead. 



66 ON THE DEAD LIST. 

I deserve this bitter woe ; 
In my pride I bade him go ; 
And he loved me, — loved me so I 

But my heart was full of pain 
As the clouds are full of rain, 
Though I would not turn again ! 

Do you know of any grave 
Which the sullen waters lave 
With a dull unending wave ? 

Over which the west wind weaves 

Many a pall of fading leaves, 

While it sobs and moans and grieves ? 

Some such lonely spot unblest. 
Where a guilty soul may rest, 
Somewhere in the distant West ? 

If such grave you ever see, — 
Emblem of mute misery, — 
Think, such is my heart in me ! 



BELLE MISSOURL 

[This song has been set to music, and universally adopted by 
the Loyalists of Missouri, in opposition to "My Maryland."] 

A RISE and join the patriot train, 
-^^ Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 
They should not plead and plead in vain, 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 
The precious blood of all thy slain 
Arises from each reeking plain. 
Wipe out this foul disloyal stain. 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

Recall the field of Lexington, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

How Springfield blushed beneath the sun, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

And noble Lyon all undone. 

His race of glory but begun, 



68 BELLE MISSOURL 

And all thy freedom yet unwon, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

They called thee craven to the trust, 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri I 
They laid thy glory in ,the dust, 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 
The helpless prey of treason's lust, 
The helpless mark of treason's thrust, 
Now shall thy sword in scabbard rust ? 
Belle Missouri I My Missouri ! 

She thrills ! her blood begins to burn I 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 
She 's bruised and weak, but she can turn, 

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 
Lo ! on her forehead pale and stem, 
A sign to make the traitors mourn. 
Now for thy wounds a swift return, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

Stretch out thy thousand loyal hands, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 



BELLE MISSOURI. 59 

Send out thy thousand lojal bands, 
Belle Missouri ! My " Missouri ! 

To where the flag of Union stands, 

Alone, upon the blood-wet sands, 

A beacon unto distant lands. 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

Up with the loyal Stripes and Stars, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 

Down with the traitor Stars and Bars, 
Belle Missouri I My Missouri ! 

Now, by the crimson crest of Mars, 

And Liberty's appeahng scars. 

We '11 lay the demon of these wars, 
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri ! 




DOUGLAS. 

QTOUT wrestler for the trampled Right ! 

Good warrior in the desperate fight ! 
Strong champion of the Nation's cause ! 
Steel-true defender of her laws ! 



Oh, well for thee, the friendly clod — 
Full six good feet of Western sod — 
Should come between those honest eyes 
And the foul deeds that here arise ! 

Well for the head that sleeps so low,^ 
Unhumbled by the perjured foe ; 
Well for the lips that dared to speak 
The truth that paled the traitor's cheek ! 

Oh, well that they are mute to-day, 
When bigot fiiry holds its sway ; 



DOUGLAS. 61 

WTien Justice lays its front in dust, 
And Might usurps its sacred trust ! 

Well that the patriot's ear hears not 
The curse of those by Power forgot ! 
Gaunt suffering, pleading for surcease, 
Whose crying is a prayer for peace ! 

In that thou died'st with sword unbroken, 
With cheek unstained by shame's hot token ; 
In that thou wert not like to them. 
Who, seemg that they could not stem 

This storm of Evil, Hate, and Wrong, 
Bowed tamely with the cowering throng ; — 
Thanks ! that the veteran's brightening fame 
Was saved this deep and damning shame ! 

Thanks ! that his sturdy strength, unbowed, 
Went out unshamed, unshorn, uncowed ! 
That, seeing wrongs he could not mend, 
And brutish errors without end. 



62 DOUGLAS. 

His keen and comprehensive brain 
Was lashed to madness by such pain ; — 
So, falhng with his harness on, 
We are but glad that he is gone. 
Thy sorrows will not haunt him in his grave, 
land, for which he died, but could not 
save ! 




THE SNOW IN OCTOBER. 



ri^HE snow is falling abroad, 
Over meadow and moor ; 
Drifting silently, higli and white, 
O'er the sill of our cottage door. 



It falls on a lonely grave 

Lying away to the West, 
Where a hero heart is mouldering away, — 

The heart that loved me best ! 

I think of the closed blue eyes. 
And the beautiful shining hair ; 

And the fresh snow heaped o'er one beloved, 
Alone in the darkness there ! 

The aster's heroic bloom 

And the maple's scarlet wreath 



64 THE SNOW IN OCTOBER. 

Are crushed alike by the cold, white hand 
Of this terrible icy death. 

Oh, cruel, untimely snow ! 

You have found him where he lies. 
It was too early to fold your shroud 

Over my soldier's eyes. 

I could bear to leave him alone 

With the sweet south wind and the flowers, 
But not with the snow and the blighted 
leaves 

Of these desolate autumn hours I 

Oh ! then I could think no more, 
And the pent-up grief grew wild, 

And I bowed my throbbing, aching head, 
And wept like a weary child ! 

And I said, " The world is cold, 

And terribly lone and wide ; 
How can I walk its dreary way. 

With no stay but my woman's pride ? 



THE SNOW IN OCTOBER. Q^ 

" I shall pass by cheerful homes 
Which Love hath made so bright, 

But I may not stay ; I must walk alone 
In the darkness and the night ! 

" Moan, moan aloud, 

O desolate heart of mme ! 
But spoken words can never give vent 

To an agony like to tliine." 

The snow is falling abroad, 

Silently, soft and slow. 
But the tears that rain from despairing eyes 

Fall faster than the snow ! 

* * * * * * * 

I watched it through my tears, 

Till the grief-throbs grew less sharp ; 

And I thought of a gleaming, golden crown, 
And a sweetly sounding harp ! 

I thought of the Great White Throne, 
And the shining robes they wear ; 



Q6 



THE SNOW IN' OCTOBER. 



And the perfect peace of the purified ones, 
And the glorj reigning there I 

* * * * * * * 

The snow is falHng abroad, 

Tenderly, soft and slow ; 
And the quiet throbs of my heart keep time 

To the musical fall of the snow ! 




TO A HERO, WITH A SWORD. 

(McCLELLAN. IN 1861.) 

rXlAKE it ! from a woman's hand : 
Draw it ! for a suffering land : 

Sheathe it only when we stand 
Shouting victory ! 

Childhood's lisp and woman's tears, 
Pulse of pride, affection's fears, 
Heart of youth and strength of years, 
Blend in this appeal. 

And though we, who bid thee go, 
May not with thee breast the foe, 
Tears as dear as blood shall flow. 
Champion of our homes ! 



68 TO A HERO, WITH A SWORD. 

Lo ! oiu" clinging hands untwine, 
And no longer fetter thine ; 
For our land we all resign, - — 
So, we let thee go ! 

Take it ! decked by woman's skill, 
She whose gentle min'stries still 
In the hour of trial fill 

Sterner souls with calm ! 

Take it ! from a woman's hand : 
Draw it ! for a suffering land : 
Sheathe it only when we stand 
Shouting victory ! 





TO A PATRIOT. 

T7EIEND ! In this fearfbl struggle for the 
-^ Right, 

Oh, brother- wrestler in our common cause ! 
Upholder of our rudely trampled laws ! 
Good soldier in the fight ! 

I stretch to thee a not unworthy hand, - 
In that my soul is large enough to know 
And feel the mighty truths which nerve 

thee so 
To battle for our land ! 



I give "thee greeting through my rising tears ; 
I say, God speed thee on thy venturous way ! 
I say, if we should win this desperate day. 
Through the thick-coming years 



70 



TO A PATRIOT. 



A voice shall utter how thy strength went 

forth 
To nerve thine upright heart, thine honest 

hand, — 
Thou, noblest of the brothers of our band, 
The heroes of the North ! 




VICKSBURG. 

TTICTORY ! Victory ! 

The resurrected Right shall stand, 
A tower of strength unto the land. 
And when our spirits faint and fail, 
And long endeavors leave us pale, 
Across the lists of death shall flash 
That memory of rare renown, — 
How for so many days and nights 
We lay around the 'leaguered town. 
Victory ! Victory ! 

No transient, momentary gleam. 
As fitful as a fever dream ; — 
The grand fruition of a work 
Cemented into moveless strength 
With loyal blood and loyal breath, 



72 VICKSBURG. 

And trlumpliing o'er Wrong at length. 
Victory ! Victory ! 

Sure and slow ! Sure and slow ! 
While the seasons came and w^ent, 
The iron man of swerveless thought * 
Planned and wrought ! Planned and wrought ! 
The waiting spring burst into bloom, 
Kor saw the fated city's doom ; 
Midsummer's breath was on the air, 
Before suspense was broken there. 

Sure and slow ! Sure and slow ! 

Victory ! Victory ! 
Our triumph shook the very air ! 
One loyal, universal shout. 
In which the Nation's heart went out ; 
For Wrong was down, and Right was up, 
And exultation everywhere. 

Victory ! Victory ! 

* Grant. 



LOYALTY'S LAST EFFORT. 

[He did not speak or move after receiving the fatal wound, 
until a comrade, bending over him, said, " What cheer for 
the Union?"] 

X IFE'S sands were ebbing fast, 

"^ And darkness wrapped bis failing mind 

about ; 
And tben in gloom, at last, 

Memory's spent lamp went out. 

And tbus he lay. 

While slowly dragged along each weary 
hour; 
Knowing not night or day, 

Suffering, bereft of power. 



And Love its vigil kept, — 

Love, whose heroic spirit faltereth not I 



74 LOYALTY'S LAST EFFORT. 

And one, liis dearest, there in anguish wept, 
Because she was forgot. 

Dear hands were on his brow. 

True eyes in anxious pity sought his own : 
" Dearest ! dost thou not know me now ? " 

Alas ! he knew not one ! 

Another came. 

Grasping his poor worn hand with cheering 
tone : 
" Knowest thou not meP " The silence was 
the same; 
He groped in gloom alone. 

" One question more, — 

Hath no last prayer for Freedom's death- 
less cause ? 
O patriot heart, so bravely stanch of yore ! " 

They bent in breathless pause. 

And then, oh, then ! 

It seemed as if a blaze of glory bright 



LOYALTTS LAST EFFORT. 75 

Had cleft the quickly gathering gloom in 
twain, ' 

And swept away the night. 

The dull eye gleamed, 

The inane face was hghted up with joy ; 
O'er all a grand celestial radiance beamed, 

Which death could not destroy : 

" God save the trampled Right ! 

God keep aloft our glorious Stripes and 
Stars ! 
Union forever ! Comrades, to the fight ! " 

Ended were all his wars. 





AN APPEAL 



IN FAVOR OF A GRAKD MISSISSIPPI VALLEY SANITART 

FAIR. 

[Read before the General Assembly of the loyal men and 
women of St. Louis, convened at the Mercantile Library, 
February 1, 1864, by Professor Amasa McCoy, of Washing- 
ton, D. C] 

TTTHERE the Mississippi's darkly troubled 
waters 
Roll their tawny waves along ; 
And the South land's ever warm, but wilful 
daughters 
Change to sighing all their song ; 
Far away from any help or friendly sooth- 
ing, 
They are dying, day by day, — 



AN APPEAL. 77 

Without love or anj tender hand for smooth- 
ing 
The last frown of death away ! 



Who are dying? Who are falling m their 
places, 
Stabbed by pestilence and wane ; 
With a firm resolve upon their pallid faces, 

Which Death can never daunt ? 
Who are tracking from the West land to the 
South land 
A free passage in then" blood ? 
Who have never turned their failing footsteps 
. homeward, 
Nor faltered where they stood ? 

Loyal men, who make the sinews of this 
nation, 
Who keep alive the throbbings of its 
heart ! 
Royal heroes ! without thought of rank or 
station, 
By the God of battles called and set 
apart ! 



78 AN APPEAL. 

The champions of this crucified Republic, 
The flower and the glory of the land ! 

And shall no help nor any sign of greeting 
Go to cheer them where they stand? 

In hospitals and in camps, so thickly crowded, 

They are suffering life away, 
With no blessed touch of Home to balm and 
soften 

The pain which maketh gray ! 
Oh, ye daughters ! Oh, ye sisters ! Oh, 
ye mothers ! 

Are ye haunted by their eyes ? — 
The weary, dying looks of sons and brothers. 

Who shall never more arise ! 

Let us help them ! We, who sit in careless 
comfort, 
In our happy, cheerful homes, — 
Shall we leave our brave defenders pining, 
dying, 
For the help that never comes ? 
Oh ! remember that the quiet of each hearth- 
stone 



AN APPEAL. 79 

Is purchased with their blood ; 
And for us they wear the cross and thorns 
of Christhood 
In their noble martyr mood ! 

Let us help them ! Oh, ye hearts of loyal 
women ! 
For your hands is not the sword ! 
To heal and not to wound, your blessed mis- 
sion, 
Handmaidens of the Lord ! 
Be the Marys of this suffering Repubhc ; 

Take your places at its feet ; 
Ye are gentle, and your hands have skill in 
healing. 
And your words are pure and sweet ! 

Ye loyal men, who love the Nation's wel- 
fare, 
Help us freely, without thought ; 
Strengthen well the hands by which this fear- 
ful ransom 
For Freedom's cause is wrought. 



80 



AN APPEAL. 



Oh, loyal hearts ! behold your countiy's 

altar 
Awaits yoTir sacrifice ; 
Through your offerings, the pledge of its 

redemption, 
Shall its new-born glory rise ! 




TRUTH IS INVINCIBLE. 

(VERITAS VINCIT.) 

[Motto on the banner presented to a Eegiraent.] 

TTERITAS VINCIT I Our soul-stirring 
' motto ! 

All worthy to wave o'er the breadth of the 
world ; 
The banner that bears it aloft is victorious, 
And never in sorrow or shame shall be 
furled. 



Veritas Vincit ! Our God-given promise ! 

Before it the forehead of evil must quail ; 
Though wrong may enshroud it, and guilt 
may becloud it, — 

A God is its author, it never can fail ! 



82 TRUTH IS INVINCIBLE. 

Veritas Vincit ! In triumph proclaim it ! 
O knight of the holy, the pure, and the 
true ! 
O warrior ! O poet ! O Christian ! O states- 
man ! 
O friend of the right ! here 's a motto for 
you! 

Veritas Vincit ! There 's life in its music ! 
Be it blazoned in glory on every true 
breast ; 
And leal hearts respond to its magical ac- 
cents, 
From, the North to the South, from the 
East to the West ! 



RANKED HIGHER. 

TTE fell as a soldier should fall, — 
He died as a hero should die, — 
With his sword in his hand, and his face to 
the foe, 
And the victory-flash in his eye ! 
And proudly, in spite of its pain, 

Swells the patriot's spirit for him ; 
For the bays that we lay on this passionless 
brow 
No frost of the Future shall dim. 



He left us, too early, alas ! 
The valiant of heart and of hand ; 
But the tears of the pure and the blood of 
the brave 
Must flow for the life of the land. 



84 RANKED HIGHER. 

And say, shall the poisonous root 
Of Treason e'er thrive in the soil 

Now red with the blood of our princeliest 
hearts, 
And rich with our treasure and toil ? 

. Ye sons of your country, awake ! 
Take the path that your heroes have trod ! 
Your noblest and dearest have given their 
lives, — 
Owe ye nothing to right and to God ? 
If your martyred are dear to your hearts, 

Let them live in the blows ye shall deal ; 
Pledge remembrance of those * on the hilt of 
the sword, 
Whose hearts were as true as its steel. 

^ The martyrs of Fredericksburg. 






THE SNOW AT FREDERICKSBURG. 



I RIFT over the slopes of the sunrise land, 
O wonderfLil, wonderful snow ! 
Oh, pure as the breast of a virgin saint ! 

Drift tenderly, soft, and slow. 
Over the slopes of the sunrise land. 

And into the haunted dells 
Of the forests of pine, where the sobbing 
winds 
Are tunmg their memory bells ; — 



Into the forests of sighing pines, 

And over those yellow slopes 
That seem but the work of the cleaving 
plough, 

But cover so many hopes ! 
They are many indeed, and straightly made, 

Not shapen with loving care ; 



86 THE SNOW AT FREDEPdCKSBURG. 

But the souls let out and the broken blades 
May never be counted here ! 

Fall over those lonely hero graves, 

O delicate-dropping snow ! 
Like the blessing of God's unfaltering love 

On the warrior heads below ; 
Like the tender sigh of a mother's soul, 

As she waiteth and watcheth for one 
Who will never come back from the sunrise 
land 

When this terrible war is done. 

And here, where Heth the high of heart, 

Drift, white as the bridal veil 
That will never be worn by the drooping girl 

Who sitteth afar, so pale. 
Fall, fast as the tears of the suffering wife, 

Who stretcheth despairing hands 
Out to the blood-rich battle-fields 

That crimson the eastern sands. 

Fall in thy virgin tenderness, 
O dehcate snow ! and cover 



THE SNOW AT FREDERICKSBURG. 87 

The graves of our heroes, sanctified, 

Husband, and son, and lover. 
Drift tenderly over those yellow slopes, 

And mellow our deep distress. 
And put us in mind of the shriven souls, 

And their mantles of righteousness. 




THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 



rilHE days of June were nearly done ; 

Tlie fields, with plenty overrun, 
Were ripening 'neatli the harvest sun, 
In fruitful Pennsylvania. 



Sang birds and children, " All is well i " 
When, sudden, over hill and dell, 
The gloom of coming battle fell 

On peacefiil Pennsylvania I 

Through Maryland's historic land. 
With boastful tongue and spoiling hand. 
They burst — a fierce and famished band 
Right into Pennsylvania I 

In Cumberland's romantic vale 

Was heard the plundered farmer's wail ; 



THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 89 

And every mother's clieek was pale, 
In blooming Pennsylvania ! 

With taunt and jeer, and shout and song, 
Through rustic towns they passed along, 
A confident and braggart throng, 

Through frightened Pennsylvania ! 

The tidings startled hill and glen ; 
Up sprang our hardy Northern men, 
And there was speedy travel then. 
All into Pennsylvania ! 

The foe laughed out in open scorn. 
For Union men were coward-born ! 
And then — they wapted all the corn 
That grew in Pennsylvania ! 
******* 

It was the languid hour of noon. 
When all the birds were out of tune, 
And Nature in a sultry swoon. 

In pleasant Pennsylvania, — 



90 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG, 

When, sudden o'er tlie slumbering plain, 
Red flashed the battle's fiery rain, 
The volleying cannon shook again 

The hills of Pennsylvania ! 

Beneath that curse of iron hail, 
That threshed the plain with flashing flail, 
Well might the stoutest soldier quail 
In echoing Pennsylvania ! 

Then, like a sudden summer rain. 
Storm-driven o'er the darkened plain, 
They burst upon our ranks amain. 
In startled Pennsylvania ! 

We felt the old, ancestral thrill. 
From sire to son transmitted still. 
And fought for Freedom with a will, 
In pleasant Pennsylvania ! 

The breathless shock, — the maddened toil, 
The sudden clinch, — the sharp recoil, — 



THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 91 

And we were masters of the soil, 
In bloody Pennsylvania ! 

To westward fell the beaten foe ; 
The growl of battle, hoarse and low. 
Was heard anon, but dying slow. 

In ransomed Pennsylvania ! 

Sou'westward, with the sinking sun. 
The cloud of battle, dense and dun. 
Flashed into fire, — and all was won 
In joyful Pennsylvania I 

But ah, the heaps of loyal slain ! 
The bloody toil ! the bitter pain ! 
For those who shall not stand again 
In pleasant Pennsylvania ! 

Back through the verdant valley lands, 
Fast fled the foe, in frightened bands. 
With broken swords and empty hands. 
Out of Pennsylvania ! 



THE GRAVES OF GETTYSBURG. 

[National Cemetery at Gettysburg.] 

X ET US lay them where they fell, 
-^-^ When their work was done so well ! 
Dumb and stricken, — leaving others 
All the glorious news to tell. 

All the yellow harvest field. 
Cursed with a crimson yield, 
'Neath the thrusting in of sickles, 
As the battle waxed or reeled ! 

They, with faces to the foe, 
Lost to pain, and peace, and woe, 
Armored in the inspiration 
Of the old heroic glow, 



THE GRAVES OF GETTYSBURG. 93 

Rusliing grandly unto death ! 
Eyes ablaze and 'bated breath, — 
Second-sighted for the future, — 
ITere they piled the trampled heath ! 

Sere for Liberty they stood, 
Writ their records in their blood. 
On the forehead of the epoch, 
In a grand historic mood ! 

Let us lay them side by side, 
In their awful martyr pride ; 
They will slumber well and sweetly, 
Spite of wailings far and wide. 

And their story shall be told 
When this Present, gray and old, 
Loses each distinctive feature 
In the Future's ample fold. 

Well, the work was fitly done ! 
Well, the day was proudly won ! 



94 THE GRAVES OF GETTYSBURG. 

But, — this nook that bloomed with- battle, 
There 's no rarer 'neath the sun ! 

Let us lay them where they fell, 
When their work was done so well ! 
In the martyr's noble silence, 
Leaving us the tale to tell. 




THE RANSOMED BANNER. 

[Asa W. Blanchard, Sergeant-Major Nineteenth Regiment 
Indiana Volunteers, was killed at Gettysburg, Wednesday, 
July the 1st, while rescuing the colors of the company, 
(which had been left behind when the regiment was ordered 
to retreat, four color-bearers having been shot down,) and 
which he succeeded in saving.] 

T70UR times tlie banner of the free 

Had lowered its front at Treason's will, — 
Four times, victorious, from the dust 
It saw our arms triumphant still. 

And every time its folds went down, 

A hero soul went up to God ; 
Yet swift the fatal place was filled, 

And still our colors waved abroad. 



The place was slippery with our blood, 
Where we fell, fighting for our land ! 



96 THE RANSOMED BANNER. 

We dropped about, like withered leaves, 
And could no longer make a stand. 



" Retreat ! " We, ckafing at tke word, 
Thrilled tlirough and through with loyal 
shame, — 

In sullen gloom we wheeled about. 
Our souls with fierce regret aflame ! 

When one, a noble, fair-faced boy, 

Whom Fate had nurtured for that hour, — 

He ignorant of his high emprise, — 
Sprang up, fLiU-statured, into power. 

The ancient thrill of prophet flame. 

The spirit of our primal men, 
Transfiguring our common clay, 

Flashed through the youthful hero then ! 

" Our flag ! our flag forever, boys ! " 
He tore it from the spoiler's hand ; 

One moment o'er his dauntless head 
It waved, — the glory of the land ! 



THE RANSOMED BANNER. 97 

And then ! — young martyr of the West, 
Our tears must drown the tribute-song ; 

But ever shall thy memory hve, 

While Right shall battle with the Wrong ! 




BRINGING HIM HOME! 

[Col. , who led a charge at Pittsburg Landing, was 

reported to be alive and well at the very time when his 
body was being taken to his family.] 

TTTHY, mother! What 's the matter? 
How you stare ! 

Why won't you let me see the letter, too ? 

Why do you hide it? 'T is from Henry 
Gray, 

And so there must be news from the battle- 
field, — 

Perhaps a word of dearest Alfred, too ! 

He has not written, — he 's too busy now, — 

My brave ! my soldier ! loyal lion-heart ! 

Forever foremost in the advancing ranks. 

He was, I know, among the very first 

To fi:ont the foe and drive him from liis lair. 



BRINGING HIM HOME! 99 

I read it in the paper yesterday, how the 
stanch Seventh 

Swooped upon the foe, and backed their Col- 
onel in his brilHant charge. 

And he ? He was not hurt ; they 're sure 
of that. 

I breathed not, moved not, till I read so far ; 

And then I fell all quivering on my knees. 

Not to pray, but weep out all my thankful- 
ness. 

And then my life was shaken with the rush 

Of the exultant blood that fired my face. 

Because my soul stood proudly up and said : 

" This hero whom his brethren honor so, — 

This man on whom the nation's eyes are 
turned, — 

Is mine, my husband ! " — 

What is it, mother ? Nay ! I '11 see it too ! 

It is not fair to jest and cheat me now ; 

'T is pitiful, trifling with a hungry soul. 

Give me the letter. Why ! how white you* 
are ! 

No trifling now ! I will know what it means ! 



loo BRINGING HIM HOME I 

" Bringing him. home ! " Dear God ! — My 

hfe ! — What 's here ? 
Brmging him home ! Why should they bring 

him home ? 
Why, what 's the matter with my foohsh 

head ? 
There 's something snapped inside of it, I 

think. 
Lies ! hes ! Hes ! I don't believe it, — not a 

word of it ! 
They 've forged this letter just to frighten me ; 
There 's some mistake, they mean another 

man. 
Smile, sweet my mother ! for the love of 

Heaven, 
And tell me for my life's sake I am right. 

The world 's all dark, — my soul ! 

The day was bright a little while agone ! 

Well ! well ! I 'm hurt so deep I cannot feel 

the smart. 
Let me lie down and hide my face somewhere, 
In some dark place, and that is all I want. 



BRINGING HIM HOME! 101 

No words ! No words ! You jar me when 

you speak ; 
I never want to see tlie light again ! — 
He 's dead^ you say ? Well, then, the world 's 

all dead ; 
Let me be dead, too ! — 

Bringing him home I My pride I my sweet ! 

my all ! 
He wrote me he was coming ; and all day 
I sat and listened for his homeward feet. 
He said, " Sweet wife ! " one little week ago, — 
His farewell kiss is warm upon my mouth ; 
And now ? — They 're hringing him home ! 
Why ! there 's his letter on the table there, — 
His very last ! and the tender hand that 

wrote 
Will never stroke my nestling head again ; 
And wdien I kiss him he '11 not kiss me back ; 
And when I suffer he '11 not comfort me. 
God ! are you just ? You knew he was my 

all! 
And so I — they We hringing him home ! 



102 BRINGING HIM HOME! 

1 wonder if the violets are all dead, — 
His ejes were like tliem ! 
Well, if their roots are planted on our graves, 
They '11 blossom blue and thick, this time next 

year. 
Oh, my dead soldier ! Oh, my life's one love ! 
I think I could have borne it better if 
You 'd kissed me only once before you died ! 
Say, do you miss me, darling, up in heaven ? 
I want you so, that if God lets me go, 
I '11 leave the world to find you, — 
I cannot wait until they ^' hring you liome^'* 




PREACHING IN CAMP. 

mHE rich light 

Fell tenderly and like a heaven-sent 
blessing 
Upon the prayerful, upturned faces 
Of a great multitude. 

The musical swell 
Of song sublime pealed out its triumph glad ; 
And my rapt soul went out upon the wings, 
The viewless wings of melody, and left 

This weary land, 



And sought a glorious one beyond the stars, 
Where life is love, and love is infinite ; 
Where shadows never come to dim the light 
Of perfect blessedness. 



104 PREACHING IN CAMP. 

The music ceased, 
And looking up, I saw, through lingering 

tears, 
A wan, half spiritual form, — an earnesi 

face. 
Whose greatest heauty was its intense look 
Of self-devotedness. 

He spoke, and then it seemed 
As if that living mass had but one heart, — 
One mighty quiverings throbbing heart, — 
And each word pierced it through. 

And strong men cowered 
Before his searching words, and every eye 
Was drawn to his, and helpless hands were 

wrung. 
And tears welled up unbidden, — stranger 

guests 
To eyes unused to weep, and the rent heart 
The mighty heart of that great multitude, 
Sent up its terrible wail. 



PREACHING IN CAMP. 105 

, And tlien at last 

He stood all silent, weary, pale, and spent, 
And quivering with emotion. Not a sound 
Was heard within the camp save murmured 
prayer 
And stifled sobs and groans 

Until, with face serene and sanctified. 
He raised his hands and said all solemnly : 
" Now, let us pray." 

A holy silence fell 
Upon us then. I know not what he said ; 
I know not how he prayed ; I only know 
Ifelt his words within my inmost soul. 
And bowed in awe, for Grod was very near* 



JEFFERSON DAVIS. 

mRAITOR ! Aje ! Upon thy brow 

Guilt's dark shades are lowering fast. 
Fame ! what is it to thee now ? 
All its serpent wiles are past. 
Thou dost feel 
O'er thee steal 
Dire despair ; 't will soon dissever 
All life's joy from thee forever ! 

Traitor ! Aye ! What made thee so ? 

Couldst thou act this craven part, 
Thus in hellish wisdom grow, 
With no demon in thy heart ? 
He was there, 
And each snare 
Told upon thy weak resistance, 
Till thy soul was past assistance. 



JEFFERSON DAVIS. 107 

For I cannot think a mortal, 

With God's seal upon his brow, 
Thus could stand within the portal 
Of the Inferno ; heavy woe 
Thou wilt lay 
On the day 
When the fiend, with deep beguiling, 
Brought thee o'er to hear his wiHng. 

Traitor ! — to the noblest, dearest 

Interests of human life ! 
Traitor ! — to the truest, nearest. 
Who stood by thee in the strife ! 
All is o'er. 
Ah ! no more 
Life, its hues from fancy taking. 
Shall seem fresh with each awaking. 

And thy sin shall haunt thy slumber, 
Cankering all the joy of sleep ; 

And remorse shall make thee number 
Every breath with anguish deep. 



108 



JEFFERSON DAVIS, 



In despair 

Thou wouldst tear 
From thy soul life's hateful fetter, 
Couldst thou hope thy lot to better. 





THE PRESIDENT'S PROCLAMATION 



AUTHORIZING THE MUSTERING INTO SERVICE OP COL- 



ORED REGIMENTS. 



T IFT up the bowed, desponding head, 
-^ O long-endurmg race ! 
Let the meek sufferance of your eyes 
Abash the tyrant's face. 

Take courage, O despairing race ! 

The tides of fortune turn. 
When white men take in kindly clasp 

The hand they used to spurn ! 



Go into battle side by side 
With men of fairer hue ; 

We will not hinder by our scorn 
The work you have to do ! 



110 THE PRESIDENT'S PROCLAMATION. 

Despised, rejected, cast away, 
Ye are God's children yet ! 

And on the foreheads of your race 
His mercy-seal is set ! 




A GREETING FOE A NEW YEAR. 

I^OME in ! come in ! 

Thou shining messenger of God ! 

Untroubled yet by grief or sin, 
Thy weary pilgrimage untrod. 

Thy unsunned brow is beautified, 
And crowned with glory by His grace ; 

He breathes the blessing of His love 
Upon thy young, unwritten face. 

Come in ! come in ! 
For millions of impatient hands 

Are stretched to draw the stranger in, 
From sunrise unto sunset lands. 

The dusky children of the South, 
With fair-haired Northmen, wait to press 

Upon thy rich unsullied mouth 
The greeting of their happiness ! 



112 A GREETING FOR A NEW YEAR. 

Come in ! come in ! 
And let tliy brows be olive bound, 

A hazel wand thy hand within, 
And time thy footsteps to the sound 

Of breathing lyre, in measure sweet ; 
So shall these notes of ruffian war 

Die out abashed, in silence meet, 
And Love become our guiding star. 

Come in ! come in ! 
And let thy song be sweet and mild ; 

So, haply, hearing thou shalt win. 
And calm this storm of passion wild. 

And bid this jarring discord cease, 
To the grand chorus of our song 

Restore the missing voice of Peace, 
And crush the many-headed Wrong ! 

Come in ! come in ! 
We crown thee with our holiest prayers, 

Almost to suffering akin. 
For they are breathed through suppliant tears. 

We crown thee with a reverent hand, 



A GREETING FOR A NEW YEAR. 113 

That gives its nearest, dearest gift, — 

A wish — that from our troubled land 
Thy coming may the shadows lift ! 

Come in ! come in ! 
We '11 pledge thee in a draught divine, — 

A rarer, costlier ne'er hath been, — 
And Hope shall bear the blushmg wine. 

It mantles with the high resolve 
Of many a noble patriot heart, 

No matter who may traitor prove, 
We trust in God and do our part ! 




D 



A SUPPLICATION. 



EAR Lord ! our wandering feet 



Come to Thy mercy-seat ; 
Oh, let Thy favor greet 

Om: poor endeavor ! 
Turn not away Thy face, 
Let not the dweUing-place 
Of Thy redeeming grace 

Be void forever ! 

God of the fair and free ! 
We bring our cause to Thee, 
Humbly, on bended knee, 

A suffering nation ! 
Oh, hear ! Thou wilt and must ; 
Thou canst not scorn our trust. 
Nor tread into the dust 

Thine own creation ! 



A SUPPLICATION. 115 

Hear us, our fathers' God ! 
Stay Thj chastising rod, 
Our feet the ways have trod, 

Of desolation. 
Lay by Thy righteous wrath, 
Preserve us free from scath, 
Shine o'er our onward path. 
Be our salvation ! 

Arise ! Thy people free, 
Erst as on Galilee 
Bid these dark discords flee. 

Thy triumph voicing. 
Let all the earth arise. 
With loud, exultant cries 
Unite to rend the skies 

With strong rejoicing ! 



THE VOLUNTEER'S RETURN. 

A H ! you 're come back too late, daiiing ! 
'T is but to see me die ; 
Trust not this strange, delusive glow, 

This brightness in my eye ; 
For see how lightly lies my hand, 

How thin within your clasp, — 
So quick and strong its pulses were 

When last it felt your grasp ! 

This poor, unworthy face, darling, 

Ah ! hide it in your breast ; 
*T is long since last my weary head 

To its true home was pressed. 
I only want to lie and look 
" Into your blessed eyes ; 
'T is weary months since thus they shme 

So free from all disguise. 



THE VOLUNTEER'S RETURN. 117 

And wlien I saw jou march away, 

Without one parting word, 
While the brave hearts of your regiment. 

By martial notes were stirred, 
I felt the ice within my heart. 

The fire within my brain ; 
And all my life since then has been 

One long-enduring pain ! 

Ah, God ! if I could live, darling ! 

Live but for your dear sake ; 
To think that I must leave you now. 

My heart is like to break ! > 

And yet 't is not such weary pain 

As when you went away ; 
Oh, I suffered and I missed you so^ 

Through every dreary day ! 

And then 't was dreadful, when the night 
Brought back your darling face. 

And gave me in a mocking dream 
Its dear, remembered grace. 



118 THE VOLUNTEERS RETURN. 

To start and stretcli my yearning arms 

And clasp the empty air, — 
To waken in the cold and dark 

And feel you were not there ! 

To know that you were lost, darling, 

To me forever more, — 
To know my soul's young life had shed 

The freshness that it wore 
When we walked together hand in hand, 

And I looked up to you, 
To read within your eyes your thought 

Of all that I might do ! 

Too late, too late I found, darling, 

You were the world to me ! 
My highest pride, no matter what 

The careless eye might see. 
But I never wronged you, even in thought. 

My pulse's lightest heat 
Was yours, even as the faithful heart 

You trampled 'neath your feet. 



THE VOLUNTEER'S RETURN. IIS 

But now you know it all, darling, 

You know that I was true, — 
They could not stir one bitter thought 

For all that they could do ; 
Within your strong and tender arms 

This last time let me lie, 
And tell me J:hat you love me, dear, 

Once more before I die ! 

I do not mind it now, darling ; 

Here, take my hand in thine, — 
You may find a brighter, fairer face, 

But ne'er a heart like mine ! 
Oh, hold me closer, closer yet, 

And kiss me ere we part ! 
I 'd rather die and keep your love, 

Than live and lose your heart ! 




OUR CAUSE 



IN 1861. 



>Y all the undying memories of the past, 
Which shall this hour of treacherous 
calm outlast, 
We know we stand 

Above an Etna of unquenched fire. 
Which, soon or late, shall burst upon the 
land 
In its resistless ire. 
These gauds which deck its sod in gay array, 

Must soon be torn away, — 
The awfal secret from its depths come forth, 
To scare the wondering earth ! 



Because an evil power, 
In one unguarded hour, 



OUR CAUSE. 121 

Guised in the folds of Freedom's virgin vest, 
Crept into a great nation's peaceful breast. 

None dreamed of inward foe ; 

And, working sure, but slow. 
At length the Curse, with high uplifted head, 
Defied, and sought to tread 
Into the dust the friend whose heart its life 
had cherished ! 

The soul of Treason came. 

And breathed with breath of flame 

On the cool waters of a nation's rest ; 
And Wrong walked through the land, 
With overbearing hand ; 

And fi:om the East to the resounding 
West, 
Contention's brands flared out. 
And Indignation raised the mutinous shout ! 

A band of frantic fools, 

Gone mad upon the isms of the day, 
Are Treason's chosen tools. 

Drawn up against us, in a rash array ! 



122 OUR CAUSE. 

Our equals, and our brothers yet, — but late 
They seek to rank above us in the State, 
To wrest from us a God-donated right, 

By force of fraud or might. 
Of all hope for the present now bereft, 

What course to us is left ? 

But one. And yet. 
We cannot quite forget 
They are co-claimants in each blood-bought 

right ; 
That, hand to hand to Freedom's fearless 

fight 
Their sires with ours went forth, — 
Though, in the oneness of their patriot worth. 
They knew not of a separate South or North. 

And could they live 

To view the fortunes of this desperate day, 
We know that they would give 

Their blessing to our Union's Bights ar- 
ray! 
The cause in which they fought. 



OUR CAUSE. 123 

In that our deeds are wrought. 

Our foes must understand, 

No impious human hand 
May dare their sacred compact set at nought ! 

But they who say 

That hands of ours have lit this balefiil 
fire, — 
They wrong the hon at bay, 

Mistake the impulse of our righteous ire ! 
No ! loyal hearts bleed for the wanton wreck 

That envy's hand hath made, — 
To see our glorious star-crown pale and fade, 

And Treason's dastard foot on Union's 
neck ; 
Even tears of living blood could not atone 
The grievous wrong unto our Present done I 

Be it upon the heads 

Of those who sought to tread 
The interests of their brothers in the dust I 
They were recreant to each sacred trust. 
Our temperate pleas were thrust 
9 



124 OUR CAUSE. 

Back with insulting defiance to our hand ; 
We were driven to the wall, — 
We must either fight or fall, — 

No choice was left us but this desperate stand. 

But, brothers, we are strong, 
Clad in the God-bom might which doth be- 
long 
To every soul that hath its quarrel just, 
Not on the treacherous sand we plant our 
trust, 
But on an enduring rock, 
Which feeleth not the shock 
Of each presumptuous and assaulting Wrong. 
God fighteth for the Right ! 
He will our prayers requite, 
And lead us from this darkness to the 
hght ! 

Oh, we could pray that Peace, 

With its soft, silken ease, 
Might settle down upon our troubled land, 
And stay the impious hand 



OUR CAUSE. 125 

That would dissolve the band 

That holds the jewels of our country's crown ! 

But be it life or death, 

Soft words or defiant breath, 
The motto of our banner gleameth bright, 
Triumphant o'er the night, — 
God and our life-blood for the assaulted 
Right ! 



IN 1864. 

Oh, triumph-bells, ring out, 
And voice the exultant shout, — 

The anthemed chorus of a Nation's soul I 
The tides of battle roll 
Our Venture to its goal ! 

And, on the forehead of this war-worn age, 
The Angel of all time 
Shall grave a deathless rhyme ; 

We pause to turn the last unwritten page, 

Whose story shall each unborn race engage. 



MY ABSENT SOLDIER. 

Tj^VENING shades are falling, dearest, 

"^"^ Night is drawing on, 

And the sweet stars look out shyly, 

Slowly, one by one ; 
And I count them, with my forehead 

Pressed agamst the pane ; 
We did it once together, dearest, 

Now I do so once again. 

When I fold my hands, dearest, 

To breathe a " good-night " prayer, 

Whose name is it lingers longest 
On the evening air ? 

Yours. And then I slumber softly ; 
For I know our Lord 



MY ABSENT SOLDIER. 127 

Througli the night's long hours of darkness 
Hath you in His ward ! 

How much I think of you, dearest ! 

I know that very oft 
My features rise before you, 

And then your voice grows soft ; 
They do not know the reason 

It thrills and trembles so ; 
'T is the beautiftil heart-music 

That makes it sweet and low I 

God bless you ! my own darling, 

And keep you pure and fair ; 
May the calm glory of your eyes 

Be darkened by no care ; 
Your love, the dearest next to God's, — 

Your worth, my highest pride : 
Sweet angels guard your homeward path. 

And haste you to my side ! 

But if — ah, God ! the bitter thought ! — 
You should not come again, — 



128 



MY ABSENT SOLDIER. 



If you should lie out, cold and still, 
Among the battle's slain, -— 

I could not bear such anguish, love. 
For all that I could do ; 

I know my widowed heart would break, 
And I should perish too ! 




L. H. R. 

/^H, soldier-heart! Oh, knightly soul ! 
^^^ Thine is the noblest skill of all, — 
That keepeth strength, and blood, and brain, 
Responsive at thy country's call ! 

No thought of risk, no mean distrust. 
Doth mar the splendor of thy life ! 

Unbound by any party creed. 

Full-powered, thou goest to the strife. 

Why, let them strain, the paltering crew ! 

Who toil for gain, and not for Right ; 
True heart ! true hand ! thy deeds proclaim 

The man who makes the noblest fight ! 



MY STORY. 



February 14, 1864. 



"DRAVE, generous soul ! I grasp the hand 
-'-^ Which mstinct teaches me is true ; 
This were indeed a royal world, 
If all were hke to you ! 

You know my story. In my youth 

The hand of God fell heavily 
Upon me, -^ and I knew my life" 

From thence must silent be. 



I think my will w^as broken then, — 
The proud, high spirit, tamed by pain ; 

And so the griefs of later days 
Cannot distract my brain. 



MY STORY. 131 

But my poor life, so silence-bound, 

Reached blindly out its helpless hands, 

Craving the love and tenderness 
Which every soul demands. 

I learned to read in every face 
The deep emotions of the heart ; 

For Nature to the stricken one 
Had given this simple art. 

The world of sound was not for me ; 

But then I sought in friendly eyes 
A soothing for my bitter loss. 

When memories would rise. 

And I was happy as a child. 

If I could read a friendly thought 

In the warm sunshine of a face. 
The which my trust had wrought. 

****** ijj 

But then, at last, they bade me hope, 
They told me all might yet be well ; 



132 MY STORY. 

Oh ! the wild war of joy and fear, 
I have not strength to tell ! 
* * * * * * * 

Oh, heavier fell the shadow then I 
And thick the darkness on my brain, 

When hope forever fled my heart, 
And left me only pain. 

But when we hope not we are calm, 
And I shall learn to bear my cross, 

And God, in some mysterious way. 
Will recompense this loss. 

And every throb of spirit-pain 
Shall help to sanctify my soul, — ' 

Shall set a brightness on my brow. 
And harmonize my whole ! 

By suflPering weakened, still I stand 
In patient waiting for the peace 

Which cometh on the Future's wing, — 
I wait for God's release ! 



MY STORY. 133 

A nation's tears ! A nation's pains ! 

The record of a nation's loss ! 
My God ! forgive me if I groan 

Beneath my hghter cross ! 

Henceforth, thou dear, bereaved land ! 

I keep with thee thy vigil-night ; 
My prayers, my tears, are all for thee, — 

God and the deathless Right ! 



WAITING FOR VICTORY. 

nVT ATIONS may side with wrong ; 

Right shall endure ! 
Justice may suffer long ; 

Right shall endure ! 
Stubborn, and hot, and strong, 
Traitors about us throng ; 
This our unaltered song : 

Right shall endure ! 



What though they battle well ? 

Right shall endure ! 
This be their final knell : 

Riffht shall endure I 
Eager their lives to sell. 
Heroes who grandly fell 



. WAITING FOR VICTORY. 135 

Lingered this truth to tell : 

Kiglit shall endure ! 

What though the fight be hard ? 

Right shall endure ! 
Be the day evil-starred, — 

Right shall endure ! 
Triumph, at first debarred, — 
Victories in dawning marred, — 
Fall back upon your guard ! 

Right shall endure ! 

Stars that are fixed may fall ; 

Right shall endure ! 
Daikness may cover all ; 

Right shall endure ! 
Ruin may droop its pall. 
This our unshaken wall ; 
We, fi:om behind it call : 

Right shall endure ! 

Let the world say its nay ! 

Right shall endure ! 



136 WAITING FOR VICTORY, 

Let the false have its day ! 

Right shall endure ! 
Failure may block the way, — 
Error may bring dismay, — 
Fixed, through this long delay, 

Kight shall endure I 




CHARGE OF BLAIR'S BRIGADE AT 
VICKSBURG. 

"V7"E glorious few, who blenched not, look- 
ing Death 
Full in the face, with eyes of proud dis- 
dain, — - 
Who won a benediction from the land. 
Through such an offering of martyr pain ! 

Be proud, ye brave ! God writes a victory 
down. 
And no defeat ! — say traitors what they 
will. 
To you the world awards the hero's crown, 
To them a scorning sharp enough to kill I 



138 CHARGE OF BLAIR'S BRIGADE. 

Oh, souls sublime from wrestling with the 
wrong ! 
I, a weak woman, scarcely dare to raise 
My voice, through tears, to swell this burst 
of praise. 
But that enthusiasm makes me strong ! 




'.wmK®M 







LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 

[The Battles of the Wilderness.] 

Y love ! my only love I 
lyf-^ Where lies tliy head to-night ? 
Oh, 't is weary waiting for break of day, 
And for tidings of the fight ! 



Somewhere m a crowded camp, 
Or, mayhap, on a ghastly field, 

Is lying one whom my jealous heart, 
To death will never yield. 

My love ! my only love ! 

But the rivers roll between, 
And the land, it stretcheth for weary miles, 

In summer beauty green ! 

10 



140 LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 

My love ! my only love ! 

But the night is long and lone, 
And my heart goes out, through the dreary 
dark, 

With a sore, unsoothed moan ! 

My love ! my only love ! 

But my arms are vacant yet, 
And the cheeks that are fading, because un- 
kissed. 

With passionate tears are wet ! 

My love ! my only love ! 

My life is a wearing pain, 
And its fulness of unshed tenderness 

Maketh it ache again ! 

My love ! my only love ! 

I will arise and go ; 
To find thee is all that is left to me. 

If thy glory lieth low. 

* * * * * * 5K 

Alas ! and she could not know. 

That the grass was springing green, 



LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 141 

And the rank weeds hiding a something 
where 
A knightly soul had been. 

Alas, for the faithful heart ! 

Alas, for its yearning pain ! 
He hath laid him down in the Wilderness, 

Never to rise again ! 





BUTLER'S BLACK BRIGADE. 

O tliey will not fight ! those branded 

men, 

Whose crime is a dusky skin ; 
They are dark without, so 't is fair to think 

The blood must be pale within ! 
They will not fight ? You have crushed them 
long, 
They 've forgotten the way to turn ! 
They have brains, and yet they remember 
not ; 
And hearts, but they never burn ! 

So, they will not fight ? You remember how 
They cowered in last July ? * 

* The New York riots, July, 1863. 



BUTLER'S BLACK BRIGADE. 143 

They had done no wrong, but then: skins 
were black, 
'T was fitting that they should die ! 
TJiey did not fight, but they stand to-day, 

As stanchly as fairer men ; 
Tliey are helping you on to your triumph 
now. 
Who were hunted and tortured then ! 

Oh, ye will not take in a kindly clasp. 

The hand that is darker than yours ! 
And ye will not walk in a plainer light, 

Nor bury these ancient scores ! 
Oh, shame for your senseless and narrow 
creed ! 

And shame for your savage hate ! 
And shame for the dulness that does not 
know, 

Like ever will seek its mate ! 

" Free," not " equal," for Mind must rule. 

And Mind must decide the caste ; 
And the largest brain, though the lowest 
down, 



144 BUTLERS BLACK BRIGADE. 

Must go highest up, at the last. 
What is it ye fear, if Mind must rule, 

And the earth is so very wide ? 
Oh, shame for your shortness of mental 
sight ! 

And shame for your shallow pride ! 

So they will not fight ? But the grim old 
man* 
Will tell you another tale, — 
Fort Pillow 's their St. Bartholomew ! 

Sepoys of the South, grow pale ! 
Perhaps, when they hallow this common 
cause 
With their thousands of nameless graves, 
Your selfish hearts will proclaim at last, 
They are men, and they are not slaves I 
* Butler. 




TO A. E. 



(in prison at RICHMOND.) 

rriHERE is a spirit in that small, slight 
frame, 

Which long captivity could never cow ; 

And the eye, pent beneath that hanging brow, 

Would never blench before the bar^d steel. 

Prisoner of Richmond ! As thou standest now 

I see the prison-blight upon thy face ! 

How didst thou suffer, in those long, dull 
days. 

And harder yet, those terrible, still nights ! 

No word from home ! No wifely fond em- 
brace ! * 

Long years of peace can never do away 

The memory of those pangs that turned the 
spirit gray ! 

* In one of the entries in his journal he says, " If I could 
only hear from my wife ! " 



KENTUCKY'S CRITTENDEN 

IN 1861. 

"E lias given all ! 
His heart, Ms soul, Ms strength, Ms 
manhood's prime ; 
Be very, very gentle with him, Time, 
And let our prayers thy stern demands fore- 
stall. 

He has given all ! 

Oh, ripening head, God's harvest is anear ; 
Oh, gentle eyes ! so ready with a tear, 
At suffering's plaintive call. 

He has given all ! 

Not vainly, — like some blessed household 
word, 



KENTUCKY'S CRITTENDEN. 147 

Whose dropping quivereth on some tender 

chord, 
His name shall ever fall ! 



IN 1863. 

He is at rest ! 

'T was like a lying down to peaceful dreams, 

Lulled by the murmuring of summer streams, 

To be awakened by the morrow's dreams. 

« 

He is at rest ! 

All noisy sorrow were unfitting now ; 
We drop no tears above this marble brow. 
And to this late bereavement humbly bow. 

He is at rest ! 

With reverent hands we bear him o'er the 

sod. 
Where lately oft his trembling footsteps trod, 
And leave him in this quiet with his God. 



THE QUIET MAN. 



(GRANT.) 



FTIHERE was no feasting when lie marched 
away, 
No patriotic speeches ; 
His calm belief in Right had placed him 
where 
No egotism reaches. 

He was above them all, — that motley crowd, 

Enthusiasts and pretenders. 
Who make long speeches, and who love to 
call 

Themselves the land's defenders I 



Then he went gravely, earnestly to work. 
And lo, a great sensation ! 



THE QUIET MAN. 149 

For soon they found he was the only man, 
With skill to serve the nation. 

And so they said, " Among the men who 
aspire 

To office let us rank you ; " 
But he was neither fool nor knave, and said, 

Decidedly, " No, thank you." 

At last they gave up trying to make him talk, 
And cheered for him immensely ; 

But he held quiet, and was not satisfied, 
Unless he worked intensely, 

" One still, strong man ! " We 've waited 
long for him ; 

He lives by acts, not speeches. 
Legion of talkers ! do you heed the truth 

His Hfe-endeavor teaches ? 



H. T. B. 

>E strong of heart, my genial, generous 
friend! 

And falter not before this league of crime : 
I hear the angel of the Coming Time 
Cry to the nations, " This is not the end ! " 

I trace the patriot's self-forgetting thought 
Upon a forehead where unselfish care 
And noble toiling leave the marks of wear ; 
And generous feeling — pained or over- 
wrought. 

But yet be strong ! It shall not be in vain — 
This wrestling through the darkest hour of 

fate. 
For we shall go through Triumph's lifted 

gate 
To find our solace for this night of pain ! 




THE LAST POEM. 



brave and gentle hero-soul ! 
O spirit tender, tried, and true ! 
How could I close my record here, 
Without one little word for vou ? 



Whose stronger arm has held me up-, 

Whose stronger heart has strengthened 



mme. 



Whose eye was always first to see 
The meaning of God's deep design ! 



Whose deeds were noble, first and last, 
As tale of ancient chivalry ; 

Whose sweet, exceeding faithfulness, 
Made life so beautiful for me ! 



152 THE LAST POEM. 

Whose teachings filled my spirit with 
This strong, unfaltering belief, 

That God's good hand will save the right, 
Through failure and bewildering grief. 

Ah ! no caressing hand is laid 
In commendation on my head^ 

My soul, dividing time and space, 
Is leaning toward yours instead ! 

I cannot think it vainly yearns 

_To reach you, though bereaved I stand ; 
Though it is bitter pain to miss 

The touch of your protecting hand^ 

Not lost, but absent ! Will you take 
These first-fruits of a younger soul ? 

You know how long ago God gave 
Its throbbings into your control. 



THE END. 






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